Sunday, 31 May 2015

Links Love #18

// Lucy Hilmer | Birthday Suits

// I'd Like To Imagine...

// Routine Views.

// An article by Kate Hamill - Ideas Don't Always Work.

// London Haunts :: Pond Life.

// Skate Girls of Kabul.

Wednesday, 27 May 2015

A Poem For Today | 14

Sky Piece 1

Towards the end of the Second World War, I looked like
a little ghost because of the food shortage. I was hungry.
It was getting easier to just lie down and watch the sky.
That's when I fell in love with the sky, I think.

Since then, all my life, I have been in love with the sky.
Even when everything was falling apart around me,
the sky was always there for me. It was the only constant
factor in my life, which kept changing with the speed of
light and lightning. As I told myself then, I could never
give up on life as long as the sky was there.

Tell us when you first noticed the sky.
Tell us when you first noticed that the sky was beautiful.

- Yoko Ono

Sunday, 24 May 2015

Ask, Then Ask Again

I'm an asker. The question master. I chat and natter, share the oldest stories from my locker and ask a lot of questions. 

I ask, and I ask again.

"Do we have to do it that way?"
"How many potatoes do you think you've eaten in your lifetime?"
"Can we take the scenic route home?"
"Would you rather be a bird or a fish?"
"How much trouble will I be in if I eat sweetcorn from the tin?"
"How many times have you fallen in love?"
"Who did you share your first bottle of wine with?"

Some of my questions are practical, some can be nosey (and a little annoying), but I'm interested.
I'm interested in how things work. Businesses, lives, minds, life. 
I want to know and absorb. 

I ask the questions because, yes, there are plenty of fears that I face, but one of the biggest is the fear of not asking. Not asking means not knowing, and I want to learn from the people that surround me. I want to know what they have to share and what they have to say, and I want to carry that with me.

I'm writing this because a recent stroll through the paths of the internet led me here; StoryCorps. It's a project that brings people together. They've collected and archived more than 50,000 interviews between parents, friends and teachers, partners, students and sometimes strangers.

It's about asking, listening, and then asking again.

Asking again, finding out more, absorbing more.

In a gentle way, I encourage you to do the same. Ask and ask again. 
You never know what enlightening, golden piece of wisdom will be tossed in your collection.

Wednesday, 20 May 2015

After Too Many Glasses Of Wine

It's wonderful
to burn too fast.
Grow too fast and
be too fast.

And it feels shaky 
to drink too much coffee
and feel the burn of liquor
soaring through.

It feels triumphant
to smoke too much and
tell too much.
Feel too much.

Too many stars in the sky
and too many troubles
littering minds
with their anxiety.

And it feels too grand,
too scary, too surreal
to be loved too much.

Sunday, 17 May 2015

This Week #20 | Out Of Sorts

I've been trying to write for the past month or so. I've lost it a bit. Writing wise that is.

Time hasn't really been on my side recently and with new things beginning my focus has been elsewhere.

After two weeks of little to no ideas I began to lose patience with myself. Staring at the screen for half an hour trying to muster anything of worth had grown tiring and I gave in. I rode the 'my brain is mush right now' wave (I still am a little bit) and attempted to focus my attention on other things.
That didn't go too smooth either.

I can feel myself losing concentration - and interest - in things I once thought were my own.
And to be frank, it's not a feeling I enjoy.

Alas, with only two minutes of brain power left this is all I could rally together.

I'm feeling numb and a little lost. I have some strength in me, but please, be gentle.

Tuesday, 5 May 2015

A Poem For Today | 13

Think of a number between one
and the age you are now. It can be
an age you liked
or one you have forgotten.

Divide by the number of pennies
you’ve thrown into a well
or a fountain or a koi pond.
Multiply by the number

of airplanes you have flown on,
rivers you have swum in,
buttons you have lost, novels
you haven’t written but plan to

someday when the number of hours
increases. Add the number of canyons
you have crossed
alone and on foot or in the car

with your friends. Add the number
of miles you’ve driven since then.
Subtract the stubby birthday candles,
dried wildflowers

real whale sightings, any change
in your pockets. Round up
by the number
of seasons in the sea,

wallflowers in a garden,
bow-ties in a gentleman’s drawer,
minutes since the last thing
you’ll remember in twenty years.

Write it down if you need to
and think of that number.
The number you are thinking of
matches the branching of the trees

the tempo of a xylophone solo
and the spiral in the staircase
in the hallway in a quiet museum.

- Sarah Suksiri

Friday, 1 May 2015

Dear May...

You are my early riser. My morning pill. My wake up call.

Your silence brings tranquillity. And with that comes a sense of magic and wonder.       
I can hear the birds singing in the trees as I write. I can taste the sweet air and I can feel every ray of sunlight reach for my skin.

I am in a place that is like no other. It's beautiful and quiet and it has brought peace to my body.       
And as the golden light drifts further down behind the trees, we will say our goodbyes.

But it won't really be goodbye, not to me.        
I'll be back again. And so will you.      
I'm sure of it.